Shadow Guardians: The Key

“You ready for this?” Zachiel asked Uriah as the four males hovered above a trapdoor in the floor of the little chapel.

A black satin cloak had been brought to Uriah’s pad earlier, and he was instructed to bathe himself with the intention of cleansing more than just his body. After, he slipped into the dark velvety material, and only that. They were all dressed identically, naked underneath the long flowy fabric that moved behind them like shadows as they walked, the hoods obscuring much of their facial features.

Uriah inhaled deeply to steady himself, and gave a nod. It wasn’t like he was aware of much that was going to happen during the induction ritual. It didn’t feel appropriate to ask, either. But his gut was tight, warning him that he had to be ready for whatever happened down there.

Zachiel nodded to Draven, who opened a panel in the left wall to pull a small lever. There was the clicking sound of a mechanism activating, then the circular door in the floor lowered and shifted off to the side. A downward curving set of stairs was revealed. The brothers quietly descended the steps without saying a word. And whilst he didn’t exactly know what to expect, Uriah felt it was inappropriate to speak.

Underneath the little chapel was a massive tomb, a labyrinth of darkness. Torches on the walls came alive with flame as they continued on their path. The walls were adorned with tapestries and intricate carvings in the old language that detailed the history of the vampiric warriors. They walked past rows of stacked cavities in the walls, each holding a coffin inside them, commemorating a fallen warrior.

They were in an underground cavern Uriah realized, a complex network of tunnels, judging by the echoing sound of dripping water somewhere. The air was heavy and still as though it had been trapped here for centuries, cold and clammy like a damp cloth wrapped around one’s skin. It smelled earthy, but not of decay. There was a faint hint of something metallic in the scent. Uriah recognized it – blood.

Their footsteps echoed off the walls, which should have been eerie in the silence. But Uriah felt a sense of power emanating from the tomb, as if the dead lived on here, the charged energy of the ancient warriors seeping into him.

Eventually they reached an opening in the cavern. Fire torches along the walls sprang to life as the brothers entered. The floor here was miraculously even. The cave walls stretched high up, with ancient black dripstones extending down from the ceiling in thin, long swords. In the middle of the floor was a stone altar that seemed to rise out of the earth itself, with a golden chalice in the center of it that was adorned with jewels. To the left, steps that couldn’t have been natural leading up to, Uriah drew in breath, a tall stone wall with thousands of names carved into it. The one he saw in his vision…Before it on the platform, were several clusters of candles, now lit and casting a soft glow over the names.

They proceeded to the altar, and moved to stand in a circle around it. Uriah saw now that there was an embellished ritual knife on the altar too.

Zachiel was the first to speak, his voice bounced off the walls. The cave had impressive acoustics. He spoke in the old language, and Uriah had no trouble following along. “Let the eldest and strongest of us be the first to pour forth their lifeblood, as hath been our custom of old throughout the ages, that it may bind us together for evermore, and fortify our vow to shield the mortal realm from the shadows. Magnus, firstborn son of the warrior Marklorn.”

Magnus, whom Uriah was now able to look in the eye since they were the same height, stepped forward and gripped the ritual knife. He scored his wrist, and allowed his blood to flow into the chalice. Zachiel was next, then Draven. Their blood mixed, and Zachiel came round the altar to Uriah with the chalice.

“Drink. So that ye may be bound unto us, and know our doings, and see what we have seen, and hear the hoary cadence of the might of the warriors that preceded ye and us, Uriah, son of the warrior Lucius.”

Uriah drank from the chalice, the taste of the blood of his brothers was heady and robust, more like a strong spirit than a wine. He closed his eyes as a vision came to him. He felt as though he was standing in the eye of a whirlwind, surrounded by the ash and ember of countless battles fought by warriors long gone. He could see their faces, their weapons, their armor, and their bloodied bodies, all flashing by in a blur of color and movement. Suddenly he could place the name and whereabouts of rest to every fallen warrior in the tomb, like he knew them.

It was as though he was a time traveler, hurtling through the ages, witnessing the triumphs and tragedies of those who had come before him. He felt as though he was being transported to the very heart of the battlefield, where he could feel the rush of adrenaline and the thud of his heart as he battled alongside them.

As the vision faded, he felt a sense of reverence for the warriors who had come before him, felt their strength and their courage ring inside his very bones, the blood of his brothers rolled and rumbled through his veins like thunder. He was connected to them, not just by blood now, but by a shared history and a common purpose.

When he opened his eyes, Zachiel and Magnus moved away from the altar to a seemingly natural circular raise in the floor of the cave. Draven nodded Uriah over. They stood in a line, one behind the other, bodies tucked in close. He was between Draven and Magnus, with Zachiel at the front.

They began to sway side to side, and Uriah was all out of rhythm, going left when they went right. Then they started humming together in a unanimous primal hymn without words. Their deep voices flooded the cave, the acoustics creating the illusion that the sound was enveloping Uriah, a harmonic droning that was hypnotizing.

His eyes started feeling so heavy that he had no choice but to close them and trust that he wouldn’t fall. And then he started synchronizing with them, going left when they went left, and right when they went right, he started humming the same tune even though he didn’t know it intellectually. The sound created a tingling vibration inside him, like those crystal singing bowls.

Eventually he realized that they, and he, had come to a standstill. The cave was quiet. He opened his eyes, and saw that Draven and Magnus were standing in front of him, their cloaks dropped. They were naked. And then came Zachiel, as naked as his brothers. He sensed him to his right, rather than saw him, and turned his head just in time to catch the longsword Z had thrown to him, he saw his arm was bare, which led him to the conclusion that yes, he too was naked. Four muscled naked warriors, each getting a longsword.

Uriah was confused.

Magnus had a smirk on his face, as though he was sensing his bewilderment, and giving him permission to ask the question.

“What happens now?” Uriah asked.

Magnus moved into a ready position, sword held high, as did Draven and Zachiel.

“Now,” Magnus said, “We test your mettle in the old way…”

Right. They’re going to duel. Spar. Whatever. Naked. Of course. Made sense, since Uriah would have loved to be donned in layers and layers of armor, if he had to go down with Magnus and his beast.

He grinned a mile wide, Uriah assumed he’d read his mind. “He won’t come out… not fully.”

Uriah huffed out breath and rolled his shoulders, lifting the sword. “How long do we fight for?”

“Until you can’t continue.”

“Just me?” Uriah asked cockily.

Magnus nodded to Zachiel and Draven. “They’ll cop out long before I do...”

Right. Not hard to imagine, since he fought for a century straight in the Abyss. The guy and his beast had impressive endurance. Uriah accepted he was not going to beat Magnus by tiring him out. The best he could hope for was lasting as long as possible against him.

“I’m ready…” Uriah declared.

“So be it.” Zachiel said.

They charged him.

“How long does this ritual thing usually last?” Katherine questioned, taking a sip of rosehip tea. She and Ophelia sat in the dining room. The males wouldn’t go out hunting tonight, and they had missed two meals already. They’d been down there for seven hours.

“Depends on how much endurance Uriah has,” Ophelia said, popping a grape in her mouth. “However…”

Before she could finish her sentence, Draven and Zachiel appeared in the archway, both looking kaput and sweaty, and with grins that rivalled the Grand Canyon in length. Ophelia arched a brow. “Wow…and since Magnus isn’t here,”

“Yeah, he’s still going.” Draven said, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“I can hardly believe it’s the same person,” Katherine murmured, thinking of how small Uriah had been. Now he was taller than Draven. “What have you guys done with the real Uriah?” she joked.

Zachiel chuckled, then came round to kiss Ophelia. “This is the real Uriah.”

“Can’t say I petty the scourge that get to deal with him...”

In the tomb, Uriah was a sweaty, wobbly mess. Still, he held his sword aloft. He’d taken numerous minor and moderate hits, which he had to focus on healing throughout the sparring. He’d given some to Magnus too. His body burned with effort. And Magnus? He looked like he was tiring out, so Uriah thought.

Then a low rumbling growl echoed through the cave, and he saw his skin change color around his neck, raising in the form of scales, his eyes illuminated, the irises turned red. And suddenly he didn’t seem all that tired anymore…

Uriah huffed out breath. “That is so not fair…”

Magnus, or the beast, gave him a challenging smirk. He came at him, his sword ringing through the air as he swung with a whole lot of might. Uriah parried the blow, his arms shaking with effort to hold the blade away from his face.

For hours more, Magnus attacked with swift and powerful strikes, some sending Uriah stumbling backward with their force. Eventually, he tired enough that his legs gave way beneath him. Even then a blow came to him, which he narrowly deflected. The combination of his failing strength and evading the attack sent him to the ground, on his back. All became quiet, save for the beast’s long, slow inhales and exhales, a rumbling, purring sound weaving through them.

Uriah closed his eyes, just for a moment. But he must have fallen asleep, because when he opened them again, he found he was laying on his side on the stone floor, facing the wall of names. His own name was carved into it, illuminated in an azure blue, fourth from the bottom in the third row, right before his eyes. He knew that the fact that it was carved out in the bottom didn’t mean a thing. If it was on this tablet, he was a warrior.

He looked down, found Magnus had covered him with his cloak, the light of the candles softly danced over the velvety fabric. Uriah propped himself up on his elbow, and started chuckling softly, feeling that every muscle in his body was trembling from being properly worked to their limits.

“Need some help, brother?”

He looked up to see Magnus leaning against the cave wall, also donned in his cloak, arms and ankles crossed. Brother, he called him.

“Naw, I’m good.” Uriah said. He hoped so, anyway. He got onto all fours, then used the wall of names to support himself enough to stand up. He weaved a little, but he was thoroughly enjoying the tingling buzz in his body.

“Shall we?” Magnus asked, gesturing to the way back with his head.

Uriah threw the cloak around his shoulders and fixed the clasp at the front to close it. So this was the last part of the challenge, forcing exhausted legs to go all the way back to the surface. Magnus smirked, and he knew he read him again.

They started their journey back, and whilst they passed the catacombs again, Uriah felt a deep sense of connection to the dead. He had the sense that the spirits of his father and mother also witnessed what he’d gone through today. A gentle breeze of peace enveloped him.